I'm Not Like Him
by kjhgfdd
Summary: Murdoc abuses 2D for his own enjoyment, but a certain dark memory makes him think twice. Oneshot. Rated T. Please R&R!


**Disclaimer: I don't own Gorillaz...obviously.**

**Oneshot, takes place in Phase 3. Please review!  
_ **

Murdoc Niccals sat in the filthy bed in his posh master bedroom of Plastic Beach. He was looking down at the floor beneath him, cackling at the sight of 2D's beaten and bleeding body. It was around five or so in the morning, yet the aging Satanist had been awake for awhile, beating his singer purely for enjoyment.

2D now laid strewn out on the floor, nursing his bloody nose, whimpering softly. His jaw was dislocated, his nose was bleeding profusely, his ribs and stomach ached severly, his back had been kicked to the point of skin breaking, and a migraine pounded in his skull. He also had ten finger sized soon-to-be bruises adorning his neck. With each struggled breath he drew into his weak lungs, pain shot through his throat, and nestled itself in his lungs, thus eliciting a sharp cry from the abused singer.

As 2D drew in another breath, he yelped helplessly. Murdoc stopped his cackling for a moment to slide off the bed and kick poor 2D in his side with enough for to push his body a few feet across the floor.

"Shaddup, ya stupid sod!" Murdoc yelled, the loud sounds piercing through 2D's head and worsening his migraine. 2D moaned before trying to speak.

"Muh-doc... please...dun't 'urt meh anymo'! Please...'m beggin ya..." 2D squeaked, his throat pulsing with pure, vicious pain as he uttered each syllable.

"Beg.'Arder." Murdoc hissed, grabbing the front of 2D's bloodstained grey t-shirt roughly, and pulling his head sharply off the wood flooring.

"Please...please...God, please Muh-doc...dun't 'urt me anymore..." 2D said at a bit higher volume, his voice a strangled cry.

"Git on ya knees and _beg _like yeh mean it!" Murdoc shouted, just before pulling 2D so he was on his feet, then shoving him down onto his knees. "You 'eard me! _BEG!_"

"_PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEEEEEASE!" _2D cried, his body radiating with merciless pain. Next thing 2D knew, he was back on the ground, a fury of fists and kicks striking his helpless body. 2D cried out each time one of Murdoc's boots or tightly clenched fists connected with him.

"Tha' wasn' good enough!" Murdoc cackled as he beat the singer. After a good minute of being beat, Murdoc hopped back onto his bed, to look over his work on 2D's skinny body.

2D was numb with pain. He just wanted to die. Right there. He prayed that Murdoc would finally deliver the kick or punch that would beat the life from him. Suddenly, his stomach began to heave.

"Muh-doc, 'm goin' tah be sick..." He moaned, knowing that Murdoc really could care less. He brought a hand to his mouth weakly.

"Go on dullard. Get sick on this floor and see what 'appens. I _dare _ya!"

2D tried with every little bit of strength in his abused body to keep himself from vomiting, which he knew he'd be beaten for and forced to clean up. He tried, but next thing he knew, his lips parted and blood was shot forcefully from his mouth, all over himself, some dripping onto Murdoc's floor.

Murdoc began to get up to beat the weak man once more, but as he stared at 2D; who was covered in his own bloody vomit, he suddenly flashed back to his childhood.

_A young, five-year-old Murdoc wandered into the kitchen, where his father was, an awful churning in his middle. He'd been beaten earlier that day, because he hadn't made enough money singing outside the pub. Jacob Niccals was a man who believed that children who didn't supply money to his beer fund deserved to be beaten and left with only scraps of food. He'd been struck in his middle multiple times that particular day. _

_"Dad?" The young Murdoc asked, his body trembling in fear._

_"'Wot the fuck do you want, ya useless piece a' shit?" His father snapped in response to his youngest child. _

_"I-I... I don't feel good... i'ss my stomach..." _

_"I swear, boy. You gunna spew?" was his father's growled response. Murdoc was quiet for a moment, before answering. _

_"Y-yeah...I think so..." He murmured, leaning heavily into a counter, one hand on his stomach, the other close to his cracked lips._

_"Yeh bettah not! If you puke on these floors, 'm goin' tah beat you so hard, y'aren't gonna know wot 'it ya!" Murdoc clamped his lips tightly together, just before his insides seemed to lurch. He opened his mouth without meaning to, just before a mixture of blood, tiny bits of food- as he was rarely fed, and stomach acids left his system and hit the floor. Right as this happened, a fist heavily struck his cranium, and his weak body hit the ground, the fluids that had left his body only seconds ago now all over his clothes and arms. He was kicked roughly in his side, sending him sliding across the floor. He felt like he was in hell. After being kicked once more in the leg, a towel hit him in the face. _

_"Clean it up! Clean it up __**now**__!" His father roared. Murdoc pulled himself weakly from the linoleum. He mopped up the mess he'd made on the floor, feeling like hell. He walked numbly to the sink and washed the filthy towel. He wrung it out, then laid it on a counter to dry. Without thinking, he headed toward the sitting room, and sank into the closest chair; his father's. _

_He closed his eyes, exhausted and ill. Next thing he knew, pounding footsteps were heard. He opened his eyes right as he was ripped from the comfortable leather chair. His father grabbed him by his wrists and roughly dragged him up the stairs. He stopped once at the door of his youngest son's room. He threw Murdoc's small body onto the worn mattress. He entered the small, cramped room. He kicked Murdoc again in his middle. _

_"Now maybe you'll think twice 'bout spewin' on mah floor, ya stupid sod!" With that, Jacob left the room, the door slamming behind him. Murdoc laid miserably on the uncomfortable bed, wishing to find some way out of this hell hole he lived in. _

The memory hit the aging bassist like a hit to the face. Or, rather, a kick to the back from his bastard father. He stared at his singer, covered in his own vomit and sobbing, beaten to where his face was covered in blood. He looked down at his foot, drawn back as he was about to kick the singer once more. He replaced his foot back on the ground.

He didn't feel that 2D deserved to be tortured like Murdoc had been by his father. He didn't wish something as horrible as that on the lanky blue-haired man.

Meanwhile, 2D laid on the ground, hoping at this point that Murdoc would kill him. But why hadn't he been hit by now?

Murdoc went over to his closet, and pulled a towel from it. He walked over to 2D, who had a terrified expression on his face. Murdoc simply sighed down at him.

"Dullard, take those clothes off. I'll clean this up." Murdoc mumbled. 2D was shocked. He very slowly stood himself up and stripped down to his boxers, the only clean garment of clothing on his body. He stood there dumbly, looking down at Murdoc, who was mopping up 2D's mess.

Murdoc finished mopping up what was on the floor. He opened the window and threw the soiled towel out onto the already-trashed beach. He turned back to 2D, who was weakly leaning against the wall, his face covered in blood. He still wore the terrified expression on his face, fearful that Murdoc would attack him.

"Go in the bathroom an' get yahself cleaned up. An'... go lie down in ya room aftah that." 2D did as he was told, and went into the hall bathroom, cleaning his face and wiping blood from his neck. He then headed to the lift, and went down into his room. He drew the curtains, so he wouldn't have to see that awful whale. He then let himself flop down into the bed, falling into a deep sleep.

Murdoc threw 2D's clothes in the bathtub he never used, thinking that maybe at some point they'd get washed. After that, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. He headed toward the lift, and rode it down into 2D's room.

He quickly saw that his singer had fallen asleep in just his boxers on top of his bed. Murdoc studied the beaten and broken man, and felt something close to guilt, but being Murdoc, wasn't _quite _as strong a feeling.

"I'm too much like my arse of a father," Murdoc murmured to himself. "Tha's gotta change."

Please review! :)


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